


Entranced

by paintstroke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cameo: Matt, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Gentle Dom, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Modern AU, Nipple Clamps, One Shot, Sex Worker Keith, Shyness, Soft BDSM, Teasing, Wax Play, alternative life drawing classes, cameo: Allura, off screen negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 23:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintstroke/pseuds/paintstroke
Summary: When Matt dragged Shiro to another alternative life drawing class, Shiro hadn't expected to be captivated by one of the models. He chases the opportunity to see the man again...The shadows seemed reluctant to let the second model go. He carried them with him a few steps. His pale skin contrasted with the web of black leather, a harness that caressed his chest and danced over his toned body. He wore dark pants, something that caught the light like soft leather, with the inner pockets flashing a deep red contrast.





	Entranced

  


* * *

  


“This isn’t where we went last time…” Shiro narrowed his eyes, but kept following Matt. It was early in the evening and people were still milling around the downtown area.

Matt shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t weighed down by his satchel. “It’s a special class tonight,” he said, his tone a bit too casual. He didn’t look back at Shiro and continued down the street. Shiro was instantly suspicious, reading mischief in the lines of his friend’s back.

“What kind of special?” Shiro asked as Matt checked an address on his phone, his finger blurring over the map as Shiro tried to catch sight of where they were heading. 

“Just a bit different,” Matt said blithely. He hid his phone again.

Shiro bit back a sigh. It was his own fault. In a moment of weakness he’d complained about art therapy, which was supposed to complement the physical therapy ordered for his recovery. He still wasn’t quite sure how his complaints had led to Matt convincing him to come to his… unique… life drawing classes as well. 

Matt existed for titillation, and these classes were right up his alley—after all, their motto was “Why can’t life drawing be sexy?”. And Shiro owed Matt… a lot. Enough that he’d agreed to come, even though this and art therapy were definitely not even on the same scale. This was closer to the physical therapy, if he was honest, honing fine dexterity in his prosthetic rather than dealing with emotions. So it was a mixture of that and his own heavy need to make things up to Matt after the incident that drove him to come along for a second session, a month later.

But being surrounded by people with a wide range of talent did help him join in, feel less self conscious about his own chicken scratch sketches. And watching Matt try to capture the suggestive poses by the colourful cabaret dancers last time had been entertaining, although maybe that amusement was enhanced by a few drinks. There were definitely positives to hosting these things in a bar. 

The extension of his good will had some limits though. “Where exactly are we—”

“Here,” Matt interrupted, triumphantly taking a quick turn into a dimly lit bar. Shiro followed with some trepidation, eyeing the ‘closed for private function’ notice on the door. It had the same flavour as the cabaret bar they’d gone to for the first event. Lots of curtains, fancy chandeliers, low lighting. Except… Shiro took a slow breath in. 

“That’s… quite the prop…” Shiro wondered just how far these ‘sketchy’ art classes would go. 

The room was centered on a double bed, art studio lighting set up on various intervals around it, casting faint blue shadows on the pale fabric. The café tables and chairs were crowded against the edges of the room, ringing the bed. Stage. Whatever. Where the other bar had been half glass; this one was wood-panelled and filled with eccentric odds and ends, with a warm glow from clusters of electric candles and lanterns. 

Other art students already sat around, claiming the chairs. A few of the more ambitious —or pretentious— had easels jammed into the corners of the room.

There was a distinct sense of waiting. 

Shiro quickly sat down in one of the chairs. He searched in his bag to reluctantly drag out his paper and a pencil. He set them down on the table.

Chairs claimed, and apparently satisfied that Shiro wouldn’t bolt, Matt turned his attention to the gleaming, dark wood bar. “Drink?” he offered.

Shiro glanced back at the pale bed. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Your treat.” He leaned back in his chair, piercing Matt with a look and trying to see if his friend tried to dodge. 

“My choice then,” Matt said lightly, and was on his feet in a heartbeat.

Shiro slouched, and for lack of anything better to do, jammed his hands in his pocket. Here, away from the Garrison, at an art class of all things, he felt entitled to drop some of his usual posture, tried to relax, but it was so damned awkward. He wasn’t an artist. Not by a long shot. 

At least here, the streak of white growing in his hair didn’t seem so out of place, plenty of the other people showing up had… unusual hair. Things that the Garrison wouldn’t have tolerated. And maybe the low light would hide some of his prosthetic. 

“Here.” Matt set something down on the table with a tinkling of ice. Shiro turned. 

“Gin & Tonic?”

“With Hendrick’s,” Matt said, a bit of contempt sneaking into his words for Shiro’s preferred poison.

Shiro narrowed his eyes. 

“As an apology!” Matt said quickly, setting down his own beer. “Geez, the way you look at me, you’d think I was twisting your damn arm to get you down here.”

Shiro was startled into a laugh at that. It was refreshing to just be with Matt, who didn’t tiptoe around their injuries. He was so damn tired of the polite glances away. “You would though,” he said, deliberately reaching for the glass with his prosthetic. 

“Yeah,” Matt breathed. “For tonight I would.” He tapped on the scar on his cheek idly. 

The drink was well-made, and Shiro cast an appreciative look back at the bartenders. Maybe, if he was lucky, there’d be a cute one to get distracted by. 

“What’s so special about tonight?” Shiro asked, avoiding looking at the bed. It was probably better to know now, rather than later. Now at least he could leave without making too much of a scene.

“You’ll see,” Matt said. It didn’t take him long to shift in his chair though, and give a little sigh. “She’ll be here,” he admitted in the tone of one admitting a secret. 

“Who’s ‘she’?” 

“Mm. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know her name yet. But Shiro, if you saw the pictures she has on her modeling portfolio…” Matt trailed off. “I just need to see her in person. Even if I don’t get to say a single thing to her. She’s a goddess.”

Shiro suppressed the snort he wanted to give. “Uh huh.” 

For one moment, his eyes are drawn to the DJ booth in the back corner. A young woman in punk regalia tapped her headset. “Welcome,” she said, dark lipstick making the bright flash of teeth striking. “If everyone could find a seat?”

It was getting more difficult, the room getting more crowded. Shiro shifted closer to Matt, clearing some space on the table by transferring his sketch pad to his knees. 

There was almost a buzz of anticipation as conversations grow more hushed. 

A door to a back room opened, and someone stepped through. Beside him, Shiro could hear the way Matt caught his breath. Shiro could see why this model stood out in Matt’s mind. He appreciated beauty—and the woman looked absolutely otherworldly. She strode into the bar like she owned it, not just confident, but regal. 

“Please welcome the Empress…” 

The Empress had pale hair matched her white leather corset, drawn up in a twisted bun to keep it off her shoulders. The white leather had teal and pink adornments, small panels of colour that drew emphasis to her curves. She exaggerated the way she looked around the room, turning deliberately to look at all the students. She stepped deliberately, slowly towards the bed, a small smile playing at her lips. The pink glitter on her cheekbones caught the lighting, drew attention to her sharp gaze. There must have been a small step on the other side, because she seemed to float. Her high heels crushed shadows into the sheets and she stood; a captain on her ship. 

The room silently waited. The Empress turned back to the door she’d entered from and stretched out a graceful arm. She beckoned with a crook of her finger. 

“… and her pet.”

The shadows seemed reluctant to let the second model go. He carried them with him a few steps. His pale skin contrasted with the web of black leather, a harness that caressed his chest and danced over his toned body. He wore dark pants, something that caught the light like soft leather, with the inner pockets flashing a deep red contrast. They rode low on his hips.

The Empress clicked her tongue twice.

Her ‘pet’ approached the bed in what must have been a choreographed dance. He dropped to his knees at the side, and she pointed one graceful finger at the sheets in front of her. 

He crawled onto the bed to kneel at her feet, looking up at her. 

“We’ll start with a warm up—short poses of one minute,” the MC’s voice cut through the scene, and the rest of the bar came back into Shiro’s consciousness. 

Shiro watched, spellbound, as the models shifted on the bed, the Empress guiding her pet closer to her, turning her back to where Shiro was sitting. She selected a whip from the table behind the bed, slid it under his chin, tilted it up towards the audience. His back curved as he bent up with the gesture. 

Shiro expected the model to shut his eyes, or stare into the distance. Instead the model’s gaze locked with Shiro’s. 

Shiro didn’t hear the start of the timed session. He was enraptured, and he wasn’t even sure why. Matt elbowed him harshly, and he turned his attention down to the page. When he lifted his eyes, the model was still staring at him, and he anxiously dropped his own gaze. The eye contact was too much, here. There was usually an unspoken agreement for a sort of non-interaction. 

“Right hand…” Matt muttered under his breath, and Shiro dutifully shifted the pencil back into his prosthetic. He set his jaw, and tried to convince his face not to heat but it was far too late for that.

He couldn’t look away. It was unlike anything he’d felt before. He just wasn’t one for love—or lust—at first sight sort of clichés. He needed to know a person, to fall in love with their ideas, who they were. But his rapid heartbeat and clammy hands were telling him this was something different. Something powerful. 

He slowly realized everyone else had their heads down, sketching the scene out rapidly. He broke eye contact, flustered. 

Looking down at the blank paper didn’t help. 

Beside him, Matt was drawing furiously. 

Shiro tried to focus on something that wasn’t… suggestive. He ended up scratching the vague line of the harness. He had to blur his own gaze so that he wasn’t captured by the model’s eye-contact, but staring at his outfit wasn’t much better. The lines of the leather seemed to call attention to every muscle in his torso, tempting dips and ridges that were hopelessly beyond his ability to capture. 

  


* * *

  


By the time an intermission was called, Shiro felt like he’d run a marathon. It shouldn’t have been a difficult event, but somehow he felt wrung out, sweaty and clammy when he should have been relaxed. This was for fun. 

“Ten minute break for everyone, feel free to refresh your drinks. Leave your sketches out if you want, there’ll be an award for the model’s choice,” the announcer said, launching into a description of the prize. The room was suddenly alive with movement again, as the students took the change to stretch and chat again after silently, furiously sketching for the last half hour. 

Shiro carefully closed his sketchbook and reached down to tuck it under his chair, away from prying eyes. There’s nothing that he wants anyone to see in there. Ever. The last event, he’d made silly little cartoons of the belly dancers, rough caricatures that had amused him, but tonight he can’t seem to get in touch with his playful side. He felt like he’d been flattened. 

He definitely needed another drink. Matt was carefully looking at his past few pages, peeking over to watch the Empress, now in a silky, flower patterned dressing gown, made her way delicately around the ring. 

Her pet… Shiro watched the model walk carefully around the room. He stopped by Matt, smirked a little at the obvious way that Matt had zeroed in on some of Allura's features. 

Shiro thought he would stop there but he kept moving until he was standing in front of Shiro. 

Shiro felt his cheeks heat, even though he wasn't usually one to blush. 

Maybe there was something to be said for private therapy after all, at least there wasn’t judgment by anyone. He shouldn't have come... He started to explain, wanting to point out that he wasn’t there to make art, not really, but no words slipped past his parted lips. 

The model met his eyes and smiled, and Shiro’s panic melted away. Unfortunately, it took his ability to speak with it. The model winked, and turned away, continuing his slow perusal of the sketches that were out. 

Shiro was painfully aware that he couldn’t stop smiling. He felt like a kid with a crush. That had to be what this was. Just a sudden crush. 

He forced his eyes to stop trailing after the model, and stood up to stretch. “I’m going to get a beer,” he said, dropping his hand onto Matt’s shoulder. “Want anything?”

Matt made a distracted noise of agreement, and Shiro turned to see that he was still focusing on the approaching Empress. He gave a half smile of sympathy, and left Matt to it. 

  


* * *

  


He was staring down at his feet, waiting for the bartender to return, when toes entered his vision. Toes. Bare feet. He looked to his side. 

The model leaned one elbow on the bar beside him, a casual smirk on his features as he looked at Shiro. His outfit was covered by a soft silky looking robe, and between that and the casual pose he seemed right at home and completely out of place at the bar all at once. It was dizzying. 

The drinks and his change somehow appear in front of Shiro, but it was hard to pay attention to anything but the man beside him. 

“Can I buy you a drink, too? It’s my round.” Shiro asked, heart pounding as if he were passing a note in grade school. 

The man’s grin was nearly lethal. “Not tonight. I’m still working,” he said in a voice smooth as velvet. “But thank you.” 

His touch to Shiro’s shoulder was so smooth, Shiro almost didn’t register the pressure until it was gone. It might have been a good thing, he was pretty sure he could have choked on air at this point.

The bartender slid the model a glass of water.

Taking hold of the two beers at least gave Shiro something to do with his hands. He followed the model, who slowly walked him back to where he and Matt had been sitting. 

The model tossed him a smile over his shoulder that nearly destroyed Shiro.

“Shy?” the model asked, gesturing to his hidden sketchbook jammed under his seat.

“Not really. Not in a lot of things” Shiro let a hint of his playful nature show through as he smiled, thinking that no one that had seen him fly would ever call his style ‘shy’. The man’s attention snapped back to him. “But I’m not an artist.”

The man stared at him for a moment and shrugged. “I’m not an art model. Tonight’s a bit… special.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said softly. “It really is.” The model’s eyes caught the candle light, and they seemed to shine more brilliantly than the flames. 

There was a lull where Shiro didn’t know what to say next, so he retrieved and handed over his sketchbook. An offering. Something to keep the man there, just a few moments longer. The model took it, looking at it almost reverently. It gave Shiro the chance to study his face while he slowly slipped through the pages. There was nothing good that could be said about the sketches, other than at least Shiro was trying. Shiro knew that, and was almost painfully glad when the model didn’t try to baby him with false praise. 

“You choose interesting focal points,” the model says, fingers brushing over some of the awkward pencil lines. 

“My friend brought me here. He calls it art therapy.” Shiro twisted his hand around, watching the metallic plates catch the light. 

The model’s eyes flicked down to his prosthetic, then back to him. He looked like he might say something else, but the moment was quickly shattered. 

“Come.” The Empress strode by as she spoke the single word. The model met Shiro’s eyes, and smiled cryptically. 

“I have to go get changed. It was nice talking to you.” 

His fingers were warm when he made sure Shiro had hold of the sketchbook, before he slipped his own hand away. The sense of loss dug at Shiro, driving him, reminding him that this was the time to say something memorable. His creativity faltered, yet again. “It was nice to meet you.” He wanted so badly to make as much of an impression on this model. 

Like many things in life, it just wasn’t meant to be. With a last smile, the model turned and followed the Empress back through the back doorway. 

  


* * *

  


It was as if the universe wanted him to suffer. He should have expected it; the belly dancers in the last session had worn full sleeves and skirts for the first half, then returned to finish the night in lingerie and pasties. The Empress and her pet followed that pattern; returning in even less clothing. 

The male model’s legs were now bared; and his black briefs fit right into the bondage theme they had going; with straps and rings that Shiro can’t quite follow. There’s a deep V in the back; thin leather straps keep the outfit together but it was still scandalous. Dark, thick cuffs capture his wrists and ankles and the Empress uses them to her easy advantage, clipping his wrists through the headboard for the first pose. 

She’s also lost the corset, and a demi-cup bra barely contained her cleavage. Both of them have loosened their hair, and it added something soft to the scene; making it more intimate. 

“Fuck,” Matt whispered beside him.

Shiro silently agreed. 

“We’ll start again with two poses of five minutes, then finish with two ten minute poses.” 

The room was softly rustling as the students shifted to get better compositions. Shiro sat there dumbly, and sighed. He’d never be able to capture even a fraction of the allure the two models were radiating. 

Resolutely, he put the tip of his pencil to his paper, and tried to at least give himself something to remember the scene by.

  


* * *

  


“Everyone please thank the Empress and her pet.” The MC turned towards the bed, directing her applause towards the models. 

Shiro looked up, startled. Surely that couldn’t be the end? 

He looked over to Matt, who looked just as dismayed and then down at his own sketchbook, where the marks didn’t seem to add up to, well, anything. Ten minutes of mostly daydreaming. 

There was a draw for a door prize, which they waited through but don’t win. Even more disappointingly, the models don’t return to the bar. He lingered with Matt while the other students gathered up their things and left. Shiro didn’t protest and he was pretty sure that Matt could see right through his motivations, but it was hard to care. 

But eventually, they had to call it a night. 

  


* * *

  


At home, Shiro unpacked his art supplies, ready to start preparing for the next day. His mind was full of what he’d seen, trying to hold on to each fading tableau. He was slipping his sketch pad into the shelf at his desk when something small and dark fell to the floor. 

He bent over to pick up the small business card. The rich black paper was embossed with a flowing silver script. _ The Castle _. A website was printed underneath the title. He turned it over. Heavy pencil marks caught the light, physical indents on the thick card that were more noticeable than the graphite. 

Keith, the blocky carving read. A number followed in the same solid scrawl. 

Shiro’s heart crept into his throat. He traced his finger over the impressions. Keith. 

He was drawn to his keyboard, and carefully copied the website over. 

  


* * *

  


Shiro wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Instead, the room seemed soft; lit mostly by a few clusters of candles. His eyes darted around, picking out supports that looked like something better suited for construction sites; leather covered horses, a tall wooden cross. There was a cage hanging in one corner, and nearby what looked like an umbrella stand supported a plume of different whips and flogs. The way some of the decorations made his heart race was secondary though. 

The most important part of the room was Keith’s presence. Shiro’s attention was immediately captured, pinned by the shirtless man lounging on the dark shape of the bed. Waiting for him. Shiro closed the door behind him, turning the lock a little self consciously. 

Keith pushed himself off the oversized four-poster bed and walked towards Shiro. Shiro had to stop himself from backing up. “Hey,” Shiro said, a little uncertain, a little self conscious, suddenly rethinking his choice to wear typical date clothes. 

“Hey.” Keith broke into a grin. It would be a lie to say that Shiro immediately relaxed and yet… There was something in the confidence of Keith’s smile, something that promised adventure. Keith’s expression gave off a sense of wicked danger, and set an answering reply burning in Shiro’s chest. He would plunge head first off a cliff to see that smile again. 

Shiro slid his tongue between his lips. If this was a normal date he’d be a stuttering wreck. He’d be bowed under the pressure to be the confident one. But here, Keith couldn’t expect him to know what to do. He’d already admitted it was his first time doing anything like this when they’d gone over the options.

Keith’s gaze dropped away, and when he looked back at Shiro his expression had become serious again. “Nothing that was on your hard limits list will be brought into this session,” he recited. “None of those can be changed. But is there anything else you agreed to that you’d like off the table this time?”

Shiro shook his head, not sure what else he could add. 

Keith held out a collar on his upturned hands. “Put this on, Shiro,” he said, eyes steady. 

Shiro reached out and took the strip of leather. He tried to hold Keith’s gaze as he fumbled with the buckle behind his neck.

“The collar is a symbol. Here, for the next little while, you are mine. You will do what I want you to do, feel what I want you to feel. You’ll be under my care—” Keith paused. “—and under my control.” 

Shiro looked at Keith, felt something inside him twist. Could he give up control like that? How much would Keith ask of him? 

Keith looked back at him. “Do you trust me, Shiro?”

“Yes,” Shiro breathed. 

Keith stalked around Shiro, pausing behind him to pass the tail of the collar through the loop of the buckle. He leaned close to Shiro, close enough that Shiro could feel his body heat along his back even through his clothing, brushing so close but not really touching. He must have stood on tiptoes to whisper in Shiro’s ear. “You mean, ‘yes, sir’.”

Shiro swallowed, looking straight ahead at the wall. He could see loops and hooks nearly hidden in the beams. It toed a line, bringing a response he’d use at work into this place. “Yes, sir,” he repeated. 

“Kneel.”

Keith pushed away from Shiro and headed back towards the bed. 

Shiro sank to his knees.

Keith leaned back on his elbows, appearing to soak in the view. “Take your shirt off for me.”

Slowly, Shiro unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, and undid a few of the buttons at his collar. Shiro curled his fingers into the hem of his dress shirt. He paused for a moment, gave Keith significant eye contact. And then he pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped the fabric beside him. 

He was uncertain what to do next, convinced that he looked awkward, no matter how proud he was of the hours of work that had sculpted his body. Keith was quiet. 

And then Keith was in motion again, heading towards the cabinet on the far side of the room. “Lose the jeans too,” he called over his shoulder. “Lay face down on the bed.” 

Shiro slowly undid his belt, paused with his hand on the zipper. He could feel his heart rate increasing already. His eyes followed Keith, watching him strip his gloves off at the dresser. Shiro pushed down his jeans, had to pause in an ungainly manner to slip off his shoes, cursing himself for forgetting. He added his socks to the pile too; because it felt strange to leave them on. He wanted to ask… well; Keith hadn’t said anything, so he left his black boxer-briefs on. How much was presumptuous?

It was a heady feeling to approach the bed, to feel the cool tiles underfoot. To know that he was choosing to put himself in this situation, to give control over to someone he really didn’t know, despite all the negotiations they’d done. 

Although he could tell that there were thicker comforters and throws underneath, the bed was covered with a black sheet. He tried not to overthink the little things but the worries wormed into his brain—how to get up on the bed, was he doing this right, was Keith even looking? Was he sexy? He cast a quick glance to the side. Keith wasn’t even watching him. 

Slightly reassured, he laid himself down, resting his forehead on his crossed arms and turning to look at Keith. 

Anticipation hammered through his chest. 

It felt like ages before Keith turned back to the bed, a small bottle in his hands. 

Keith didn’t pause to take off his combat boots before he joined Shiro on the bed. Shiro raised an eyebrow, not sure why that of all things caught his attention. Not when there were so many other distractions. 

The leather of Keith’s pants brushed his bare upper thighs. Keith’s body felt warm, and Shiro could feel the tense muscles beneath as Keith hovered his weight just above the backs of Shiro’s legs. Shiro had to consciously focus on breathing. The sound of the bottle clicking open dragged at old memories. He only realized he’d tensed up when Keith’s hands alighted on his shoulder for a moment. He forced himself to breathe out, trying to relax as the strong fingers dug into his tense muscles. 

Liquid splattered haphazardly over his upper back. Keyed up with the promise of this space, Shiro drew in a sharp breath, mind drifting to what Keith would look like getting off straddling his back, covering him in his come. It was just a brief moment, but already he could feel himself start to respond. Keith’s fingers caught the rivulets as they ran in trickling lines across his back, smoothing the oil into his skin with broad waves. The room became permeated with the scent of the oil, something that reminded Shiro of the forest, with the crisp tang of juniper over other notes he couldn’t place. Keith’s hands alternated between reverence and command; they trace lightly over his skin, then demand Shiro’s relaxation. Keith’s thumbs worked deeper into the tissue where Shiro carried his stress. Shiro slowly let his breathing steady. Keith ignored his scars. 

Keith rocked his hips as he moved lower on Shiro’s body. His muscled thighs kept Shiro’s legs tightly pressed together, and he sat on Shiro’s calves with a lazy sense of familiarity. His fingers played along the waistband of Shiro’s boxer briefs, but he made no comment before he shifted lower again. 

It was more intimate somehow, with Keith’s hands on the back of his thighs. Shiro’s breathing matched Keith’s movements, holding his breath as Keith massaged higher, pressing into the muscle. Keith teased as he reached the highest point he could, fingers slipping into the leg of Shiro’s boxer briefs. 

Shiro shifted against the bed, feeling the blood pool low in his body. He tried to spread his legs, but Keith’s lower legs outside of his own felt like an immovable force. Keith gave a low chuckle and continued to move lower on Shiro’s body, rubbing the oil into the back of his knees as Shiro squirmed and tensed. The weight on his calves disappeared. Keith’s boots had hit the floor a moment before he spoke. 

“Roll over.”

Shiro hesitated. Keith was a professional. He was here for sensation. His half-hard dick would just be a compliment… right? It still took him a moment to gather the will to turn over. When he did he stared up at the ceiling, noticing a heavy hook above the bed. 

Keith took hold of his ankle, smoothing a layer of oil into Shiro’s shin with long strokes. Resolutely, Shiro set his jaw. “You can relax…” Keith suggested. “This isn’t meant to be uncomfortable…”

Shiro sighed. It was just him, not the massage, per se. “Sorry.”

“Look at me.” 

Shiro lifted his head up, shaking it slightly to get his longer hair out of his eyes. Keith was looking back at him. He held up a thick leather cuff. Shiro swallowed. He could feel the matching collar against his throat, even if it wasn’t tight. “I’m going to restrain you for this,” Keith said. 

Shiro let his head fall back to the bed. “Okay,” he agreed softly. He swallowed his apprehension.

Keith clicked his tongue. “You’ve forgotten how to speak to me,” he said, the words holding the hint of a threat. 

“Yes, sir.” Shiro corrected himself. 

The soft cuff wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt almost as if Keith’s hand was still holding him. With two heavy clicks, a short length of leather was holding his leg out. Keith shifted, slowly pulling on Shiro’s other leg, splaying him out against the dark sheet. Shiro watched, heartbeat rising into his throat; pushing at the collar with every surge of blood. 

Keith knelt back on the bed between Shiro’s legs. Shiro could feel the adrenaline start to kick in. Keith’s hands smoothed up his shins, and then Keith settled back onto his heels, locking eyes with Shiro. The position was getting suggestive, and Shiro couldn’t help but respond. 

Keith slowly held the little bottle of oil over Shiro’s leg. Shiro jumped as a heavy droplet his knee. The fat trail tickled as it curved lower. He jerked his leg back, only managing to confirm that both of his ankles were firmly caught. Shiro shifted, propping himself up on his elbows so he could keep an eye on Keith. 

He had to look past his own tenting briefs to watch Keith’s hands on his upper thighs, smoothing upwards. He tried to distance himself a little; it had been a long time, and the touches were almost too much. His inner thighs were sensitive, and he started to squirm under Keith’s touch, holding his breath, hoping that Keith would drag his underwear off, or dive beneath it. 

He fisted his hands in the sheets, alternately flexing and trying to relax as Keith teased him. He wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he should. Still… whenever he looked down Keith gaze was locked on his own. It felt intimate; like they’d skipped too many steps in getting to know each other. 

Keith attention eventually slipped to Shiro’s hands instead of his face. He crawled forward so that he could lean over Shiro’s torso, use his weight to push his shoulders back down onto the bed. “Don’t think about anything but me.” Keith took hold of his left arm. He reached off to the side, picked up a slightly smaller cuff. He attached it around Shiro’s wrist, and stretched Shiro’s arm out along the bed. Click. 

He held up the last cuff for Shiro to look at. “Will this be ok over your prosthetic?” Another shift, another stretch over Shiro and he’d fasted that wrist to to the side as well. 

Shiro nodded, trying to keep his attention from drifting to how close Keith was to his groin. His arm, his prosthetic… nothing else seemed to matter, although he remembered faintly writing something along the lines of not wanting to take off his prosthetic on a questionnaire. That was miles away from where his thoughts were now but…. “Should be. As long as there’s nothing electric… sir.” Some of the options given by the agency had been seared into his mind. 

Keith gave a small smile. “Not today.” His wink attempted to assassinate Shiro. 

He took Shiro’s hand and attached it to the last post, leaving Shiro spread-eagled on the bed. 

He sat up, satisfied, and carefully swung a leg over Shiro. 

Despite the strain in his neck, Shiro kept his head lifted. The sight was glorious. Keith’s leather-coated ass was so close. He was hit by cravings to bite it. He wanted to lean up…

Keith’s hands on his other thigh were a welcome distraction. Shiro let his head fall back and he did moan this time, especially when Keith lowered his head to blow across his oiled skin. 

His fingertips again teased underneath the fabric of his briefs, but they didn’t explore nearly far enough. 

Shiro decided that he was done with being passively teased. He arched his back up, thrusting his hips up towards Keith, hoping to encourage his exploration. And if he could grind against Keith’s leather clad body… 

But Keith was swift, gracefully pulling his body up and away, ahead of any contact. Shiro collapsed back onto the bed, and Keith turned.

There was a dark look in his eyes when he turned around, but a smirk touched his lips. It didn’t quite soften the effect. “I decide when things will happen,” Keith said, voice low and rough. 

The tone went straight to Shiro’s dick. He shut his eyes and nodded quickly. Patience, he told himself. 

Keith added more oil to his hands. Looked down. Breathed out. The light was soft, and Shiro wondered if he imagines colour rising to Keith’s cheeks. 

Keith slowly stroked his hands down Shiro’s chest. Ten lines drew heat down Shiro’s body, slowly and steadily heading for his core. Again, Keith hooked his fingertips through the waistband. He pulled. The air of the room was cool. Shiro hissed as the fabric snapped back against his skin, his cock completely rigid; futilely demanding attention.

Keith rubbed lazily at Shiro’s shoulders, soothing. Shiro shut his eyes as Keith’s hands traveled lower again, the flats of his palms smoothing over Shiro’s chest.

The eye contact had been overwhelming, but not knowing why Keith had paused was worse. Shiro opened his eyes, met Keith’s gaze again. Keith steadily watched his face as the pad of his finger ghosted over Shiro’s nipple. Shiro tensed, pressing his back heavily into the bed, trying to find something to ground himself as the flesh of his skin gathered, tightened, hardened his nipple under Keith’s barely-there touch. He shut his eyes as Keith repeated the process on the other one. 

Keith spread his hands out, ignoring the scars that cut asymmetrically across Shiro’s skin. When his hands grazed Shiro’s nipples again, Shiro made an embarrassing noise. It drew a smile to Keith’s lips, and without warning, he pinched each peak. 

Shiro twisted against the restraints, not sure if he wanted more or less of the sudden heat. 

Keith hands moved lower on his chest, each of his abdominal muscles seem to leap to Keith’s hands, tensing and begging for attention as Keith smoothed the oil across his skin. Finally satisfied, Keith sat back and looked. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, and Shiro could feel embarrassment bring colour to his chest, his neck. Embarrassment, but also a sort of pleasure. He wanted to please Keith. Keith sat back on his heels. “How are you feeling?” 

He shamelessly watched as Shiro flexed against the restraints, then relaxed back onto the bed. “Good,” Shiro murmured. It was true. Having someone take care of him like this was something rather rare these days. 

Keith held up a soft bit of fabric. “I’m going to blindfold you.”

Shiro nodded. His heart raced as Keith covered him with his own body, chest to chest for an electric moment. He forced himself not to move. Keith smelled good, Shiro could feel long hair brushing against his cheek as Keith pressed in close, closing off his vision with the mask. Shiro told himself he was still in control because he managed to bite back his disappointment when Keith pulled away again. 

He was left to try to sense where Keith was. 

He could tell when Keith left the bed. He could hear the strike of a match, could smell the sulfur a moment later. Could feel the bed dip when Keith returned. He jumped a little when he felt Keith’s hand on his side, stroking downwards. He stretched, trying to give Keith more to touch. 

It felt like a heavy tap to his sternum at first. A searing heat flared. Shiro sucked in a breath, flinching away. A moment after the heat peaked it was fading, leaving behind a gentle warmth that settled over his chest. 

Keith shifted above him. 

Again, heat bloomed across his side, running in blazing, quickly cooling trails downward. The movement tickled. Shiro gasped and curled away, tugging the restraints tight on that side of his body. 

Keith made a happy noise. “You look so good flexing underneath me.” 

Just because of that, Shiro held the tension for a moment, before forcing himself to relax. 

Keith shifted and Shiro instinctively tensed, drawing in his stomach, expecting another hot rush of wax. But instead he got Keith’s laugh. He felt Keith fingers, slightly rough, drag up across his abdominals. 

“Breathe,” Keith instructed. Shiro obeyed. 

Keith’s hands splayed out over his body, stroking up over the swell of his chest. Shiro wasn’t sure when his mouth dropped open, but he tried to lengthen his panting into something less needy. He hissed when the next splatter coated his nipple, kicking his heels against the bed and writhing in place. The heat suddenly seemed to gentle, and he wanted more. 

His shoulder blades left the bed as Keith settled his weight directly over Shiro’s groin. All the blood in his head rushed south to meet the join of bodies, and he was suddenly glad for the blindfold. He rolled his eyes back as he couldn’t resist rolling his hips up to meet Keith. 

He should have recognized the delicate clinking as something to worry about. His neurons were devoted solely to memorizing the pressure of Keith’s inner thighs across his pelvis, the swell of Keith’s leather-coated ass hovering where he could just barely arch up into the ghost of a touch. Keith easily rode above the seeking movements of Shiro’s body; keeping any sort of real friction just out of reach. 

Something scraped across his nipple and Shiro grabbed at his own restraints, gritting his teeth. 

“Breathe, baby,” Keith whispered above him, and Shiro obeyed. His entire upper body tensed, unsure of where the next drop of wax would land. 

He felt it first against his other nipple. It took him a moment to register that it wasn’t wax, wasn’t heat, because the pressure burned in a similar way. 

Shiro grunted as it didn’t let up, pulled against his wrists. Something cool pooled across his stomach, clinking, and his brain dully registered that it must be a small chain of some sort. 

Another pinch, his other nipple. Shiro twisted, the cool metal chain sliding against his stomach as he jerked away. The heat built behind the clamps. 

He could feel when Keith took hold of the chain. Shiro no longer needed to be reminded to breathe, his breath was coming in short, shallow pants. 

Keith pulled. A different sort of heat burned through his nipples, sharp and tingling and spreading, and Shiro gasped and threw his chest forward to relieve the edge of the pain. 

Keith held him there, and then slowly lowered his weight. Shiro began to tremble, wanting to collapse and just feel but the threat of more pain-pleasure kept him pulled taut underneath Keith. 

He started to swear softly as Keith rocked teasingly over him. He wasn’t sure how much he could feel and how much was his vivid imagination, but he was pretty sure that Keith was hard too. 

A heavy tap against his straining abs bloomed into more warmth, edging almost into burning. Wax again. “Fuck, Keith, please,” he started to bed. Another few droplets hit his stomach in quick succession. He pulled at his restraints, wanting to grab Keith’s hips, hold him down in place. A few quick thrusts—he felt like he could come just like that, but his hands jerked uselessly at the cuffs. 

He just wanted to focus on where Keith was grinding into his hard on. Everything else was too much. Shiro let himself collapse backwards, letting out a little yell as he pulled himself free from the nipple clamps. The sharp pain of the blood returning was a deeper fire than the wax. 

Shiro rutted against Keith’s hips, the friction almost enough to distract from the pain, the pain almost enough to push the friction into something more; building…

Keith rose higher onto his knees though, denying Shiro the chance to chase his release further. 

“You know what you’re going to do?” Keith voice was warm and thick.

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m close,” he pleaded, his voice rough and catching against the collar around his throat.

“You’re going to remember this.” Keith turned the words into a hard-edged command. “You’re going to jerk off to it when you get home today.”

Shiro wanted to come now. His balls ached, and he was painfully aware of every heartbeat throbbing through his dick. “Yes, sir,” he gritted the words out although he couldn’t keep his lips from twisting in disappointment. The terms of the agreement had seemed fair when they’d made it, but he hadn’t expected to get quite so carried away in the scene. 

Keith’s hands were almost cool against his chest. Both of them. He must have put the candle and the chain down at some point. “Easy,” Keith whispered. 

Keith didn’t move the blindfold; didn’t unbuckle the cuffs. It was probably a good idea. If he had his freedom it was too tempting to just roll over and pin Keith to the bed underneath him. Shiro threw his head back against the bed and gritted his teeth. His world had narrowed to the sensations on his own skin, and he tried to broaden his awareness again, to get a sense of the room. 

He could feel Keith curl up against him, knees and elbows against his right side. Shiro calmed his breathing slowly. Fingernails scratched bluntly across his chest, lifting the hardened wax from his skin. The calm motions give Shiro something to concentrate on besides his dick. Keith seemed to have a sense of exactly where Shiro’s mind was. He released the restraints, but only after Shiro was far from the precipice. 

Shiro rubbed his wrists when he got his arms back, then pushed up the blindfold. 

Keith looked flushed too, eyes sparking almost fever-bright in the low light of the room. “How are you feeling?” 

Keith’s voice made Shiro want to wake up beside him some morning. There was something tender there. 

“Yeah, good.” Shiro replied slowly. An understatement. But he was still a little dazed. “Sir.” Keith’s hand was light on his shoulder as he sat up. 

“Water? Gatorade?” Keith offered, as he went to one of the cabinets. The wooden facade hid a mini-fridge. 

“Just water would be fine…” Shiro looked down at himself, nipples still peaked, constellations of red marks and slivers of wax still clinging to his chest. 

He jumped as something cold touched the back of his hand. Keith gave a half smile in apology and Shiro took the water with a shake of his head at himself. “I guess I’m still a bit…”

He didn’t know how to finish the sentence so he let it trail into nothing, twisting off the cap of the water and taking a few sips. Keith watched him closely, moving into his space. 

“I guess that’s time?” Shiro asked as he looked up at Keith, moving his knees apart as Keith pressed closer. 

Keith leaned over him, but his thoughts of a kiss were broken by Keith unbuckling the collar he still wore. “Yeah,” he said softly as he took it off. “There are towels in the bathroom. Help yourself to anything.”

Shiro nodded, and tried to convince his legs that they wanted to move. His gaze trailed after Keith, and despite himself, he followed Keith a few steps instead of heading to the bathroom. He leaned into Keith’s arm lightly, seeing a flimsy excuse to pull Keith’s hand towards him.

“You caught yourself, too...” He slid his nail underneath one of the wax pellets, popping it free from Keith’s skin with satisfaction. 

Keith smirked as he gently pulls his arm back. “Heat test,” he said softly, but there was kindness in his eyes. “Go.” 

Shiro let Keith go reluctantly, gathering his clothes from where he left them and leaving the main room.

In the bathroom he quickly he turned on the shower, stepping under while it was still painfully cold. He hissed slightly at the shock, even as he sunk into the distraction. The pink marks on his skin were already starting to fade. A faint sadness accompanied this realization, but he didn’t linger on it. He soaped himself down, getting rid of the massage oil and wax remnants. It was hard not to touch himself. At home, Keith had said. 

Shiro toweled himself dry and dressed, finger combing his hair back into place as he stepped back out into the main room. The dark sheet had disappeared, and the bed looked like a fur-trimmed prop for a fantasy television show. Keith was fastening the wrists of his fingerless gloves again. 

“So…” Shiro started, awkward. It didn’t help that his libido ratcheted right back into high gear at the sight of Keith. He could so easily be ready to go again, the denial of an orgasm earlier a haunting spectre. 

Keith looked up at him. His lips twisted to the side. “So…” he echoed. His eyes slid away first this time. “You know…” he began, saving Shiro from having to figure out what to say next. “I gave you my business card because it was the only thing I had to write on. I won’t turn you down as a client but… just so you know, that was my personal number I wrote on it.”

Shiro tried to pretend this was news. “Ah. I see…” Despite having had Keith’s hands all over him in the last hour it was this that made him blush. If he’d been looking for a client, then he could have let the Castle’s embossed contact info speak for itself. But Shiro had chickened out. At the time this had seemed like the easier choice…

“If you want to book more sessions I’m happy to see you. But… I’d love to get to know you.” Keith looked away, either to spare Shiro’s dignity or to hide his own hope, Shiro couldn’t tell. “If you’re ever interested in going on a date…” 

“What are you doing tonight?” Shiro said. The minute the words left his mouth he wanted to kick himself. 

Keith looked back at him, surprised. 

“Um,” Shiro tried to backtrack. “Or tomorrow?” He realized that didn’t make him look less desperate only after it left his mouth. 

“Tonight’s fine,” Keith said quickly, his expression softening as he looked at Shiro. 

Shiro stared at him in surprise, not expecting agreement. He stared a moment longer, then laughed a little as the relief hit him.

Keith stepped closer, looping a hand through one of Shiro’s belt loops to tug him a step closer. His nervous laughter immediately died as he swallowed, mouth going dry. 

Keith leaned up and hovered his lips over Shiro’s.

“You remember your assignment?” he whispered, letting the words tease hints of a kiss as he barely brushed Shiro’s lips.

“Mm-hmm…” Shiro let his hand settle at Keith’s waist, feeling incredibly daring for being able to touch him. 

This close, the violet undertones of Keith’s eyes almost shimmered. “Forget it. I think we can come up with something better…” 


End file.
